The Lady and The Champion
by Coilerfan35
Summary: A collection of ArMor one-shots inspired by the prompts given in the 200 Prompt Fan Fiction Challenge.
1. Prompt 51: Crossover

**An: I decided to take on the 200 Prompt Fan Fiction Challenge, and amidst brainstorming ArMor ideas and watching Doctor Who...I obviously very easily came up with an idea for #51 on the list.  
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**Enjoy and expect more to come!  
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_"It is said that in the final days of Planet Earth, everyone had bad dreams. To the west of the north of that world, the human race did gather, in celebration of a pagan rite to banish the cold and the dark. Each and every one of those people had dreamt of the terrible things to come. But they forgot. Because they must. They forgot their nightmares. Of fire and war and insanity. They forgot. Except for one..."_

The room was warm from the dying fire cracking weakly in the darkness, cocooning the Prince and the Ward as they slept in each other's arms. Exhaustion hung heavily in the air, but while Arthur slept soundly with his lover under his arm, Morgana's brow was furrowed.

She was dreaming at first, neither scared nor at peace. She was simply there, looking upon a world that meant nothing to her through eyes that hung in a balance she couldn't grasp. Around her was darkness, but nothing evil hung in the shadows. The cobwebs hanging from the ceiling failed to affect her and the air that brushed the dust across the stone floor was unfelt by her. In front of her was what she was meant to see; a huge stone box adorned with large circular engravings on each side. The box itself hummed and the engravings turned in slow, tedious circles, as if the box was unlocking. In her sleep she felt a shiver run up her spine and she gasped, a small feeling of fear spreading to her from the center of her unconsciousness. The box had begun to glow a bright green color, and soon its sides were parting.

She felt her terror materialize when the box opened and the bright white light that appeared from inside the cracked box was wrapped with screams. High pitched screeching filled her head and she felt the claws of insanity physically tearing her brain apart. Pain radiated from her spine and the bright white light burned her skin, threatening to dissolve her into nothing. She saw bloody wars full of forgotten deaths; dead bodies lying in fields that were overlooked by the peasants that merely stepped over their decrepit bodies. Everyone was dead, dying, but their screams were unanswered. No one cared. No one knew.

Instead their screams all went to her mind. Every part of her shook and tensed as dead hands grasped out of the darkness and grabbed at her, ripping her clothes and tearing into her skin. She felt blood slide down every part of her body and seized as she felt her bones breaking before she was consumed with the blinding light that broke from the stone box. Tears fell down her cheeks as she screamed out into the undisturbed Albion air, but she choked back her sob when the cool brush of death wrapped around her neck.

A cool breeze brushed against her ear and her tears began anew, the shadowy figure slowly choking the life out of her and pulling her deeper into his shadowy embrace. She felt its words carve into what was left of her body and she felt herself being torn apart, burnt, and frozen in her agony. Morgana cried out and shot up in her bed, gasping and sobbing wildly as her eyes looked around the hazy world surrounding her. She felt a warm hand touch her shoulder and she spun around, looking into Arthur's concerned sapphire gaze.

She sobbed again and fell into his open arms, burying her face in his shoulder and crying away the terror in her mind. His lips pressed against her temple and he pulled her into his lap, rocking away her nightmare and rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"Shh," he hushed, closing his eyes and burying his nose in her sweet smelling hair. "It's alright. Morgana, it's alright. I'm here, shh baby you're alright."

"It was so terrifying," she gasped, coughing roughly before her sobs returned. "Something so much worse than death, and it whispered...it whispered to me."

"What did it say?" Arthur asked, looking at her with concerned eyes and wiping away the tears that stained her flawless skin.

She looked at him and fear consumed her emerald eyes. She grabbed his shoulders and held onto him as if her life depended on it. Her lips parted, but a sob left her before she composed herself enough to relay the message from her dreams.

"Silence," she began, breathing in deeply and blinking away her tears. "Silence will fall...and the Pandorica will open."


	2. Prompt 37: Heaven

**An: Another prompt, fluffy in nature, to ease the pain of the series finale I haven't seen yet. (Spoilers, dammit.)**

**Nonetheless, enjoy. :D  
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All he felt was pain. Pure, burning, agonizing pain. Blood seeped from his wounds and his life force seemed to slip away with every weak pulse of his heart. Tears fell down his dirty cheeks and a soft sob left his lips as his eyes refused to leave the crumpled form beside him.

His sister, his lover, his Morgana lay on the cold forest floor, her eyes closed and her body unmoving. She, once so innocent and beautiful, now a shell of what she became; to forever be remembered as the powerful witch that was consumed by her hatred. Camelot came to crumbles around her hand, as did the lives of many good men but he didn't hold it against her. He should have tried harder, cared for her more, and maybe...just maybe...none of this would have happened.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to her unconscious form, his hand reaching out to touch the ice-cold skin of her cheek.

"Arthur," Merlin interrupted his thoughts, nearing his friend and looking upon him with sad eyes. "We have to go."

"What's the point?" Arthur asked. "I can feel death lingering...there is no hope for me."

"You are right," the sorcerer agreed, moving closer to his King and hauling the armored man to his feet. "But you are not to die here. You are needed elsewhere."

"But...Morgana," the King whimpered, limping forward with his servant, but looking back at the woman he was leaving behind. "I can't leave her...I can't leave her. I've abandoned her too much in her life, I won't leave her now!"

"Arthur," Merlin snapped, pulling the soldier forward. "Just...be silent and trust me."

Had blood not be spilling in a steady trail from his stomach, the fiery King would have retorted, but he was far too weak to continue the argument. The weight of so many deaths hung from his shoulders and in his last hours he couldn't think of anything other than what he could have done differently. For Morgana, for Mordred, for every one of his knights that fell to his sister's onslaught. Had he changed something along the way, maybe those men would be going home to their families. Instead they were to rot on a battlefield stained with blood, their bodies only to be consumed by the earth, to be lost and forgotten forever.

"So much...I could have done," he sighed, gasping sharply as he tripped and pain shot up his wounded stomach. "Where...we...going?"

"The lake," Merlin answered.

"Why?"

"I cannot tell you that, but I assure you that you will find the answers you seek."

"I hate when you're cryptic," Arthur growled, offering a weak smile when the sorcerer simply chuckled and slowed when they neared the lake edge. Without saying a word, his servant led him to a boat bobbing uselessly in the water; untouched and untethered. With as much combined strength as the two could muster, Merlin helped his King into the boat, and held onto the edge to speak with him one last time.

"Your time in this world is at an end, which means...so is mine. I must say, Arthur...we've had quite a journey to this point," Merlin said, smiling at the weak man holding his bleeding stomach. "I hope you forgive me for not telling you I had magic for all these years."

The dying King smiled, and he chuckled before he groaned in agony. "Merlin, my friend, you always talked too much."

The sorcerer chuckled and grasped hands with his friend, before he pushed him out into the lake and towards the fog that lingered on the edge. Extending his hand, he chanted to the wind, and his eyes flashed golden; mobilizing the fog. It stretched and swirled from its origin and consumed the boat, pulling Arthur into a depth that no other mortal could enter. With a faint smile, and a single tear falling down his cheek, Merlin stepped out of the water and sat on the lake's edge; muttering quietly to the world.

"Long live King Arthur."

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The fog was warm, yet cool. Light, but dark. Consuming, but leaving him untouched. He felt something deep within him empower him, and as he sailed deeper into nothingness his pain ebbed away. His chest stopped bleeding, and his head stopped throbbing. His once swore muscles were relaxed, and his once dirty skin was cleansed. Upon opening his eyes he noticed that his armor was no more, and in his surprise he sat up, catching sight of a figure residing deep in the fog.

He tilted his head, and stood in the small boat; waiting until he could see the bottom of the mysterious lake before he left it the boat behind. With water to his waist and the fog omnipresent, the only thing he could focus on was the figure, that was growing more and more clear with each footstep towards it.

"Arthur Pendragon," the voice was familiar, sweet, feminine and warm. "Sovereign of Camelot and United Albion. Conqueror of the Saxons, and true war hero. Friend, brother, husband and lover..."

"Who are you?" Arthur asked hesitantly, still unable to clearly see the woman that seemed trapped in the fog. "How do you know who I am? And...where are we?"

"You do not recognize me?" the woman asked, stepping into his vision and smiling. She was beautiful, with porcelain skin and hair of ebony that fell down her back and into the water. She was dressed in all white and her dress tightly clung to her body where the water encircled her. She had a smile like no other, and his heart soared despite his inability to act on his want to wrap her in his arms and never let go.

"Morgana?"

"Indeed," she smiled, reaching out and taking his hand. Her skin was warm again, and he smiled before he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist; burying his face in her neck and sighing weakly.

"I...I don't understand. I saw you dead. You were right beside me, bloodied, cold, lost to the world. I kept wondering what I could have done to change your fate, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Morgana for not being to you what I should have been. I should have given you the compassion and love you deserved, like I wanted to, but I just-"

"Arthur," she soothed, brushing her fingertips against his neck and pulling back enough to look into his shimmering sapphire eyes. "Be calm. This is no need for apologies, or regrets here. We simply just have to be."

"Here?" he tested, quirking an eyebrow. "Where exactly is...here?"

Morgana smiled and stepped out of his embrace. As if parting a curtain she reached into the fog, and pulled it away reveling a world more clear than Arthur had ever experienced before. The shadows of doubt disappeared and in its stead remained a castle, far greater than any Camelot, that gleamed a mystic white atop an island surrounded by crystalline water. Beautiful maidens draped in white robes milled around the castle's grounds, and on the horizon large, purple mountains reached up to kiss the sky that was unmarred by clouds. "This," Morgana began, smiling at the stunned man. "This is Avalon."

"A-Avalon?"

"Yes," she laughed, taking his hand once again and leading him away from the water. "You will return again, to the Earthly world, when Albion needs you, but until then you are given eternal peace and happiness."

"But I have done so much wrong..."

"As have I," Morgana explained. "But am the last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, I was destined to be here no matter what...but such a destiny meant that the love and compassion I felt as a child was still there...it was simply outweighed by my anger and my hatred. I was possessed, and I regret that I was weak enough to let that happen, but as I said...this is no place for regrets."

"I missed you," Arthur whispered, stopping upon the emerald grass and tightening his hold on her soft, small hand. Morgana turned and smiled at him, drawing herself closer and allowing her hands to settle on his chest.

"You don't have to miss me any longer," she responded, a promise she could uphold until the end of time. The former King of Camelot smiled and wrapped his arm around his lost love, allowing for his hand to tenderly cup her cheek. His thumb brushed just below her eye, clearing away all of the tears he should have kissed away when her magic and wild tongue were manifesting. He should have held her after her nightmares, kissed her wrists after she was locked in the dungeons, and he should have been there for her instead of following his father's every beck and call.

And as he leaned down and finally kissed his Queen, he swore to himself that he would reap all the benefits of spending a blissful eternity with the fairy, Morgana.


	3. Prompt 98: Hidden

The summer waters around Camelot were soothing on a warrior's sore muscles. In a world where the sunny days were spent in a training ring, Arthur had grown tired and weak, irritable and sore. He too wanted to live his days in folly, but alas, his duties always came first. He wouldn't have minded it in actuality, had he been given a break, but since the first gust of warm air graced Albion he hadn't stopped moving between training sessions, imperial meetings, and long-distance travelling in hopes of striking peace with the surrounding nations. He was exhausted, and it seemed that he could only find solace here, at the lake. Their lake.

He remembered when they stumbled upon their Eden on one of their many childhood adventures; running through the forests until they couldn't point to where Camelot was and their lungs burned for oxygen. It was on a summer day, much like today, when they had found this place, and deemed it theirs.

Loose rocks lined the shore, and licking them was a crystalline water the clearest blue they had ever seen. Trees dotted the hillside that arched up and away from the far side of the lake, and between them the mountains could be seen, topped with snow and shimmering in the sunlight. Beyond their lake was unexplored territory, a place that man had labeled "wild." Wolves roamed free, giant cats with fearsome claws prowled across the rocks, and large deer trampled through the icy terrain. But there were no cries of war, no blood staining the untouched white of the snow. There was only peace, understanding. It was a haven, one that was untouched by ignorance and hatred, and in their young age they named their lake Eden, and forevermore wound their way through the forest paths, returning time and time again.

This time, though, he came alone, and as the warm waters circled his body as he floated on his back, he wasn't surprised when he heard a soft clacking of the loose rocks before the audible acceptance of her foot in the water. He didn't have to open his eyes to see her, and could visualize her pale skin reflecting the movement of the water, while her eyes burned with something only she could harness. He could see her flowing ebony hair resting upon the water, swirling around her as if the elements wanted to consume her and keep her for themselves, but much to the Earth's dismay, the woman with beauty unmatched by any other in the world had her eyes settled on one man, and one man only.

"Arthur," her voice was sweet, calming; like that of an angel. Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, and he smiled, keeping his eyes closed and his body floating. He felt her move behind him, her wet fingertips resting against his cheeks as she tilted his head back and pressed her warm lips to his forehead. She was always like this, so kind and gentle, while he was always so brash and hasty; he yelling and screaming while she was calm and collected. It sickened him, to believe that he didn't deserve such a gentle soul by his side, but as he slowly raised his hand and brought her fingers to his lips, he could never imagine letting her go.

"I'm sorry for earlier," he whispered, tracing her soft, long fingers with his own rough, calloused ones. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"No," she agreed, earning a smile from her stressed prince. "But I forgive you. You're pressured with all of Uther's work and your own training."

"I'm tired, Morgana," he sighed, feeling her lips on his forehead again while her fingers slid though his wet hair.

He opened his eyes to look at her for the first time, surprised to see that her shoulders were bare and not adorning the slip she usually wore to hide her body from his eyes. He slowly righted himself, holding onto her hand and pulling her closer when she raised her brow in confusion. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, looking down at herself through the water and gasping when his hand reached out and settled on the curve of her waist.

"This is new," he chuckled, brushing his fingers up the curve of her spine and pulling soft shivers from her body. "You're bare."

She tilted her head and smiled, her teeth softly worrying her lip and sparking a fire deep in his belly that only she had control over. Her hand reached out tentatively, as if she was innocent, as if she had never touched him. "I am aware," she whispered, when they drifted closer and mere inches kept their warm skin from colliding. "I am here to relax you..."

He laughed and pressed his hand into the center of her lower back, pulling their moistened bodies together and urging her thighs up and around his hips. Her arms circled his neck, and played with his hair; a simple look on her face that screamed that she was far more pleased to have him pressed against her than she should have been. His hand trailed up her back and reached for her hair, pulling it away from her skin and fisting it tightly as he pulled her head back and sealed his lips to her pulse, sucking and teasing the pretty Morgana while he gently ground his hips against hers. Her soft moan brushed by his ear and echoed throughout the valley surrounding them, softening time and time again until they were merely whispers upon the wind.

He bit her neck, and pulled her hard against him; his being turning feral. She cried out in response to the pain, but the way her legs clenched around his waist dispelled all fear of actually hurting her. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she whimpered as waves of unimaginable pleasure forced her hands down; tearing and enflaming his skin. He hissed against her neck, and she laughed as his teeth gently bit the lobe of her ear; his fingers brushing against her ticklish stomach. "You know, as much as I love you, your scratches bloody hurt."

"Aw," she cooed, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. "I didn't know the famous and powerful Arthur Pendragon couldn't deal with a few, tiny scratches. Please, my liege, allow me to tend to your wounds."

"Shut up, Morgana," Arthur growled, gripping her hair once more and pulling her away enough for him to seal his lips against hers, effectively silencing her, but once again driving her nails into his skin. Despite the soft flare of pain, he smiled against her lips.

_'I wouldn't have her any other way.'_


	4. Prompt 191: Home

The night reigned supreme across Albion as her crowned prince relaxed within a tub of steaming water. He closed his eyes and sighed as the heat rubbed away all soreness and fatigue from his body and surrounded him in a cocoon of comfort. But it wasn't the comfort of the bath after a long day that had Prince Arthur smiling with the warmth of love in his eyes, it was instead the young woman curled up against his chest, seemingly asleep in the arms of her lover.

"Are you tired?" he whispered, kissing her dampened forehead softly and lacing his fingers with the hand she had settled on his chest.

"Mmm-hmm," Morgana hummed, allowing the water and the steady beating of his heart to lull her towards the sleep she was deprived of the night before. "Didn't sleep last night...couldn't while you were away."

"I'm sorry," he responded, tightening the arm he had wrapped around her and burying his nose in her damp hair. "I wish I could have stayed with you. I don't like knowing I am the reason you never get any sleep."

She smiled and laughed, snuggling in his embrace and speaking into his skin. "You're always the reason I never get any sleep. You keep me awake whether you are home or away on some stupid assignment Uther has concocted. Given...when you're home and keeping me awake, it is quite enjoyable," she teased, lazily kissing his throat.

"Easy," Arthur warned, bringing Morgana's knuckles to his lips. "If you want any sleep tonight, I wouldn't do that."

She pouted and the Prince took no time in leaning forward and softly kissing her warm lips. She sighed and relaxed as she was totally enveloped in his arms and eventually lifted out of the warm water. With her head on his shoulder, he carried her to the arrangement of furs and pillows in front of the roaring fireplace, and settled her amidst the fabrics. She rolled onto her back and stretched; a soft moan leaving her lips as the fire warmed her skin. Arthur moved to his door and checked to see that the lock was sturdy before he turned to take in the sight of her, all porcelain skin shimmering in the light of the fire. His heart ached within his chest, and he sighed as he laid down beside her, enveloped them in one of his many blankets, and pulled her back into his chest.

"I missed you, Morgana," he whispered into her neck, trailing soft kisses from her shoulder to her temple. "So, so much."

But she never answered. Wrapped tight in his arms she was fast asleep, her mind clear of the visions of death that plagued her from night to night. Her eyes flickered beneath her lids and her lip pouted, but with every soft press of Arthur's lips against her skin, her brow relaxed and she was led towards oblivion. A soft sigh left her lips, and beneath the blanket that covered them, Arthur found her hand and laced their fingers together. With a smile, he laid his head beside hers, and closed his eyes to the welcoming scents of burning firewood and lavender that told him he was finally home.


	5. Prompt 180: Lullaby

The darkness was all-consuming as the young prince of only fourteen stared up at his ceiling; his heart racing and his blood pounding with every steady smack of the drums that echoed from the lands outside of Camelot. The city, even when it should be asleep, was in an uproar, and all he could hear was the screams of innocent people and the last words his father uttered to him before he left.

_"This kingdom will be yours when the time is right, Arthur. If that time is now, be strong, and stand valiant."_

The thought that the siege beyond the walls was so terrible that it could bring the great Uther Pendragon to his knees brought tears to Arthur's eyes, but he clenched his fists beneath his blankets and choked back his sob. He was to be the king of Camelot and the whole of Albion if he had his way, and the future king was not allowed to cry. The future king was not allowed to be scared, and the future king was not to be unsettled by the incessant drone of war drums.

He was to stand valiant, and steady; unmoving and unrelenting, but despite it all, he was still a child, and no amount of lying would convince him that he wasn't utterly terrified.

The door to his room creaked and Arthur sat up instantly; his hand on a dagger he kept poised just out of reach until he a pair saw shimmering green eyes emerge from the shadows. A soft sniffle followed those eyes and the person edged closer and into the dull light of a clouded moonlit sky that shone through his window. There Morgana stood, shivering and wiping at her red cheeks without any care for modesty or privacy. The usually strong young girl looked terrified, but her lips were pressed so tight together he figured she dare not speak for fear of sobbing.

"Morgana," Arthur whispered, sitting up and depositing his weapon elsewhere. "Are you well?"

Her eyes shimmered again, and he realized that the glow was not from her happiness, but her tears. She shrugged and released a shaky sigh as a tear slid down her perfect cheek. She remained still in the middle of his room, unable to move. "They're terrifying Arthur."

"What? What scares you so?"

"The drums," she murmured, stepping back subconsciously when he stood from his bed and moved closer to her form.

"I know," he soothed, closing the distance between them slowly and tenderly reaching out to brush his fingers against her arm. He gently grasped her wrist and pulled her closer; tugging the terrified girl two years his elder into his arms. She was willing and fell into his embrace, clutching on to him as if her life depended on it.

"When will it stop?" she whimpered through her tears. "When will the bloody drums stop? They are deafening and ever present and they take away the very air I breathe. My heart beats with them when they are loud enough, and my heart plays their beat when they are soft. All I ever hear are the drums...beating away the last inkling of time."

"Do not think such thoughts," Arthur soothed, burying his nose in her hair and placing a gentle kiss against her temple. "They are meant to be scary, to try and unnerve the opponent, but they mean little. Father has more motivation than the barbarians find from their drums, and the beating will not rile him. He will protect Camelot, and save the kingdom. You are safe, Morgana. Besides...I would never let anything happen to you."

Her arms tightened around him and she shook beneath her fear. "I cannot express how thankful I am that you did not stand by your father today. I can't imagine my life without you Arthur, and I pray I never have to live with such agony."

"You never will," he promised, kissing her skin once again in an attempt to sooth her before he pulled away from her bone-breaking embrace. She grasping at his dressing shirt and he moved his hands to her cheeks; brushing away the tears that lingered on her skin before he brought her closer and kissed her forehead. "Stay," he pleaded simply. "Please."

Morgana nodded quickly, and smiled when he pulled her with him - pulling back his disheveled covers and tucking her in with a smile before he laid beside her and wrapped his arms around her lithe frame. His face buried in her ebony tresses and he inhaled the scent of vanilla that clung to her skin slowly before she turned in his arms and snuggled into his chest. Her cheek found solace against the curve of his shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around his torso; their heartbeats crashing together in response to the close proximity.

He let his fingers run into her hair, and he played with the soft strands until he felt her heavy sigh against his neck. His other hand fell against her lower back where he drew his silent declarations of love for her against her concealed skin, and when the beating the drums grew louder he pulled her tighter.

The steady beat of the enemy sunk deep into his heart and subconsciously he started humming. His eyes closed against the veil of sleep as he felt her vice-like grip on his back slacken, and felt her breathing even. Instead of wallowing in the fear of what the drums might mean, the beat reminded him of a lullaby that a maid always crooned at Morgana when she was a baby, and then crooned to him. It was exotic, and from the lands she once called home.

And despite the sounds of war, the incessant drone of drums, and the sound of Albion burning beneath barbaric strife, the king's son and his ward managed to fall into sleep's oblivion, for Arthur Pendragon was the only person who knew that all Morgana needed to sleep was her lullaby.


	6. Prompt 3: Love

**An: All I have to say is enjoy, and I promise I will write some smut whenever my schedule allows for me to catch up on my True Blood. :D**

**Sail on, lovelies. **

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The heat circling within the dining hall was unbearable as jesters jumped around, jubilant kings sang drunken melodies with a vibrant company of lute players, and the open windows only provided a warm summer night's breeze instead of the cool chill he so desperately prayed for. His cloak hung heavily off his shoulders and beads of sweat slid down his chest; dampening his blood red tunic adorned with my father's golden crest. He felt hellfire and brimstone radiating off every being attending this wondrous feast, but when he looked down the table, he felt a warmth far more welcoming and comfortable at the sight of the pretty young woman smiling at the gifts being extended to her from every reaches of the hall.

"It's beautiful," he heard her whisper, her voice elated and her eyes bright as she held up a necklace that shimmered with fine-cut stones that burned the same heated green as her eyes. Without hesitation she turned her back to the man at her right, and extended the clasp of the necklace to her king, who happily clipped it together and admired the expensive jewelry hanging from her neck.

"It is perfect," Uther said, with a grand smile on his face. "Happy birthday, Morgana."

The ward beamed, and her shimmering emerald gaze locked with the searing sapphire eyes that had been roving over her the entire night. The heat from his blush mingled with the heat from the hall and tinted his skin an even darker pink; his mouth going dry and his hands beginning to shake. His fingers brushed against the ornately decorated box before him, but a much heavier gift was tucked against his breast, a gift he would have to give her privately - away from the kings and the hungry eyes of their princes.

But until they could escape he extended the longer box towards her and smiled. "Merlin told me girls like shiny things," was all he said, chuckling at the curiously quirked eyebrow she sent him.

"So I should thank Merlin for this?" she asked, sitting back and running her fingers across the box's top.

"Not at all," the Prince answered, sitting back as well and smiling towards the crowd. "He didn't seem to understand my idea."

"Interesting," she mused, smirking and curiously opening the box. Inside sat an ornately decorated and jewel encrusted sheath, that lead to an equally ornate and beautiful handle that was riveted to fit the curvature of her fingers. Upon grasping the handle she felt balance and power, and her breath was stolen once again when she pulled the sheath away and found her image being reflected on a blade forged of the strongest metal known to Albion and Albion's surrounding areas. "Oh...my."

"Is that...from the northern kingdoms?" Uther asked, recognizing the crafted hilt and the peculiar cut of the jewels. "How did you manage to place an order for such a blade! The people of the north aren't ones to trade their weaponry."

"Let's just say I've made a few connections over the years," Arthur shrugged as he tapped his finger tips off the table top. "And the northern people were willing to part with one measly dagger for a lady as beautiful as Morgana."

"I love it Arthur," Morgana said, clutching her weapon to her chest. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, but I hope you understand that I must ask for something small in return for such an extravagant gift..."

"Oh?" she asked. "And what would that be?"

With a smile and a heavily beating heart, the Prince stood and walked to the Lady's side. Bowing gently, he extended his hand towards hers and muttered: "Dance with me."

"Since when did you dance of your own volition?" Morgana asked, narrowing her eyes at Arthur even though her thin fingers slid into his palm and she stood from her seat.

"It's your birthday, I'm being kind," he growled under his breath, nodding to his father over her shoulder and leading her towards the collection of stumbling couples dancing towards the end of the hall.

"I think you're jealous," she accused. "I've noticed you've been staring at one of King Elrond's knights for quite awhile. The same one that has been staring at me for the entirety of my dinner. Trying to stake a claim on something that isn't yours?"

"You are the lady of my house and the ward of my king," he attempted to brush off. "It is my job to make sure you are safe, and I currently don't trust King Elrond's men. I've heard far too many stories of their lack of chivalry."

"Don't you know, Arthur?" Morgana asked, laughing when they reached the center of the dancing crowd and Arthur spun her in a circle. "I'm a woman now, your King is looking to sell me off to the highest bidder. He won't be happy if you try and hoard me. You cannot pay a dowry to yourself."

Despite how the crowd jumped and spun from person to person, Arthur held her body against his as if the wild melody from the lute players was really a sleepy dirge meant to push people into the arms of their lovers. Eyes glanced over the two, but they failed to care as Morgana buried her face in Arthur's shoulder and his lips ghosted over her ear. "You aren't going anywhere," he hissed, tightening his arms around her and inhaling the delicious scent of vanilla that clung to her skin. "You are mine, and I will destroy any man who tries to take you away from me."

"Arthur..." she whispered, closing her eyes and wanting nothing more than to believe that they could have the life they had dreamed of for years. "What if that man is your father?"

"He can do nothing," Arthur swore, pressing a barely-there kiss against her temple.

"I beg to differ," Morgana argued, pulling back to look at him and noticing an unusual gleam in his eye that danced between fear and pride. She shifted in his arms and tilted her head, trying to figure out what her prince was thinking. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I need to give you your birthday present," he murmured, glancing behind him and seeing that his father was preoccupied with one of his long-lost war buddies. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Arthur," she started, but fell silent as she was pulled out of the heated cocoon of the hall and into the cool corridors by his hand. She tried calling his name, stopping him, and tugging away from his grasp but he was unrelenting and didn't slow until they had broken through the main doors of the palace. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked, stopping on the stairs when he let go of her hand.

He smiled and turned on his heel before he climbed the few steps separating him from her. Reaching forward, his fingers brushed against her cheeks and without any care as to what eyes might fall on them, he bridged the distance between them and kissed her. She gasped and pushed him away, glancing around them nervously. "Are you mad?" she hissed under her breath. "Someone could see us."

"Well they wouldn't if you would come with me," Arthur argued. "Do I need to carry you?"

"No," she assured, taking his hand once more and following him as he wound through the small streets that encircled the palace. "What is going on with you tonight? You're acting...odd."

"Good odd, or bad odd?" he asked, brushing his thumb against the back of her hand in hopes it would slow his racing heart.

"I'm not entirely sure," Morgana answered honestly. "I'm just worried. I've never seen you this...unstable."

Arthur laughed and looked at her as he led her into Camelot's gardens. "Are you saying I'm crazy?"

"I've been saying that for upwards of twenty years, Arthur," she argued, quirking her head and slowing to a halt when he led her towards a small creek that cut through the gardens that was decorated with a magnificent willow tree. They ducked under the fronds and while he dropped her hand and moved closer to the towering tree trunk, she stood along the edge and watched the creek water tumble over the rocks that shimmered silver beneath the moonlight.

The prince stilled by the trunk and smiled when he looked over his shoulder to view her in all shining ivory and gentle features. He sighed, his heart soaring as it always did when he looked at her, and his fingers clenched; the weight against his chest both heavy and light. "Morgana," he called, gaining her attention and rousing her from her stupor. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she sighed, moving closer to him and walking straight into his arms. She held him against her and buried her face in his chest; breathing in the musky smell of him deeply and clinging to him as if her life depended on it. "I just...Uther told me that I will meet my suitors tomorrow."

"I told you, Morgana. You don't have to worry about them," he whispered into her hair while his hands slid up and down the curve of her back.

"How can you be so sure?" she implored, pulling back and looking at him with eyes glistening with unshed tears. "No matter how many times I have tried talking him out of these stupid deals he won't budge this time! He's already waited three years for me, and he is unrelenting now. There is no way I can get out of this Arthur, I can't-"

"Shh," he soothed, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. "Relax, my love. You're not going anywhere. I promised you."

"Yes, but even you can't bend Uther Pendragon," she hissed, looking away when the first tear slid down her cheek. "There is nothing we can do."

"I beg to differ," he said, throwing her earlier words back at her and smiling despite the anguish that shone through the confusion on her face. Tenderly, he took up her hand and kissed her knuckles before he dug for the present he had tucked against his breast. "Morgana, my love...in my eyes you have been my queen since we were children, it just took me awhile to see past your insufferable tongue and your innate ability to bruise my ego. I promised you, three years ago on your eighteenth birthday, beneath this very tree that as long as you still wanted me, I would never leave. My body, my heart, and my soul belong to you, and on that night I promised that no man - caring or not - would take you away from me. I love you and I will continue to love you until my heart stops beating and darkness takes me...and if you wish, on this night, I can save you from every errant suitor you could ever encounter."

She laughed and took in a shaky breath as tears continued to slide down her cheeks. She sniffed and tightened her hold on his hand; begging him to continue. "Arthur," she gasped, reaching her hand up and brushing away her tears. "What...what are you saying, exactly?"

"Marry me," he asked, his voice soft and barely audible. From his tunic he materialized a small band adorned with a singular diamond settled atop it. She had seen the ring before, and knew that it once belonged to his mother but was given to him when he had turned seventeen. She had caught him gazing at it on occasion, always caught somewhere between the past and the future, and having it poised by her hand took her breath away. Her tears came faster and she tried speaking but all she could do was nod and throw her arms around his neck when the ring was placed on her finger.

"I love you," she managed to whisper against his neck, clinging to him and pressing soft kisses against his heated skin . "You are an idiot and a prat and you are going to give Uther a heart attack and land us in the dungeons when you announce this, but Arthur Pendragon I love you so much."

"It'll get rid of the suitors, will it not?" he asked, smiling when she pulled back and forcefully pressed her lips against his. "Besides...it won't be the first night we spend together in the dungeons."

"Or the last it seems," Morgana laughed, her eyes closing as his thumbs brushed away her tears and her heart soaring as she once again enveloped herself in his arms. With the silence of the night surrounding them, all she could hear was his heart beat - the pulse of a king, and the accompaniment to the pounding within her own chest. A small laugh bubbled from her lips and she tightened her arms around her betrothed, the man she had loved since she was only nine years old, and the man she grew up believing could never be hers.


	7. Prompt 173: Sacrifice

**An: If this is terribly written and there are mistakes everywhere, it's because I couldn't see through my tears.**

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The air around the battlefield was warm and teeming with the scents of cooked meats, finely polished armor, and the sharp burn of war-ready swords that could barely graze flesh and spill copious amounts of blood as Arthur moved through their camp; glancing over his army in a final attempt to prepare for their oncoming war. The knights looked to him and smiled as they drank their ale and ate what could be their last meal, and the King nodded with a smile of his own as he regarded his army dressed in the red and gold of the Pendragon name. No man standing beneath his banner was afraid of what was to transpire, and no soldier spoke with words that were meant to be his last. There was pride, and trust, and skill where fear should have been, and that thought couldn't have been more comforting.

"Pleased with the sight?" a soft, feminine voice asked as the owner of the voice stepped out from the large tent situated at the head of the site. "I don't think I've ever seen your men more ready."

"I agree," the King muttered, reaching out to the woman and pulling her into his side. His fingers splayed across cool armor and something deep within his stomach churned at the thought of her going into battle. "I suppose the dragons are a nice touch on morale."

The woman in his arms smiled, and her arms slid around his torso before she pushed onto her toes and placed a gentle kiss on his stubble-covered cheek. "I can tell you're nervous," she whispered in his ear. "If not for your army as a whole, than for me. I promise you, you have nothing to worry about."

Arthur sighed and tightened his arm around her, looking down at her face - so soft and pretty - and imagining it covered in dirt and sweat and blood. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled her into his chest, hugging her tightly and burying his nose in her hair. "Whatever happens today, Morgana, know that I love you, and will continue to love you far past the events that happen on this battlefield."

"Likewise, my liege," she teased with a smile that she buried within his shoulder; a smile that only brightened when his lips found solace against the top of her head. "I'm confident about today, Arthur. If this battle is won Albion will be united and stable. No pitiful band of barbarians will be able to upset the kingdom, and no man would dare wage war with a lion-heart like yourself. I've slept peacefully before these days, and I believe that is a sign of our victory."

"Well," Arthur smirked, pulling away from her and taking both of her hands in his. "Who am I to defy the tellings of a High Priestess?"

He pressed a soft kiss to her fingers and she laughed, rolling her eyes in her traditional dramatic fashion to show her obvious distain of his flattery. The two smiled at each other but broke apart entirely when a scout climbed the hill towards them; a solemn look on his face. "Your majesties," he said, falling to his knee and crossing his arm over his chest. "The Saxons are moving."

"Then it is time," Arthur stated, nodding to the scout and waiting for him to rise to his feet before continuing. "Rally the troops, I want everyone ready to move out in five minutes. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sire," the scout nodded and with a final bow he took his leave, immediately calling out over the camp. At the sound of his shriek all of the soldiers rose to their feet and grasped for their weapons and shields. Some mounted horses, others fell into a marching formation in front of the camp, and a select few rose the banner of the Pendragon name. Arthur sucked in a deep breath and looked over to his lover, his friend, his queen, and offered a small smile. He grasped her hand and squeezed it tight before he let her go and moved to join his men. "Be safe," was all he whispered to her before she left, and her heart clenched painfully. Was he not confidant in their victory? Did he know something she did not?

The soft nudge to her shoulder didn't allow her to continue her thoughts and a smile touched her lips as Aithusa pulled back and silently regarded her master. "This is it, Aithusa," Morgana whispered, gently touching the neck of the dragon that was decorated in finely crafted armor. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, my lady," the dragon responded and, upholding tradition, the two bowed to each other before Morgana took her place on the back of her beast and called for her to rise into the air.

Above her the sky was a perfect blue, highlighted and accented with fluffy clouds that shimmered beneath the sun's caress. The wind whipped through her hair, her clothes, through her very being as Aithusa's wings spread and they sailed high above any place where normal man could reach. Above the battlefield, all was perfect, but below her she could see the horde of her husband's men marching forward and the horde of the Saxons pouring out from the depths of the forests. The peaceful air was disturbed by the drone of war drums and the heated bellows of blood thirsty men from each side of what would be known as the Battle of Camlann.

She could see Arthur at the head of his army, screaming out words that she knew would rouse even the laziest, apathetic soldier to battle readiness. She could hear the low timber of his voice, but his words were buried by the waves of cries that left the Saxon horde. Her king, mounted on a horse whiter than snow, turned towards his enemy and raised his dragon-forged sword high in the air. Even at her altitude she could hear him yell "For Camelot!", and then the red advanced.

"Remember the plan?" Morgana asked her dragon, tightening her grasp on the beast that had grown to be her most trusted companion as both sides of the fight rushed towards the middle.

"Of course," Aithusa responded, and with a soft chuckle, the dragon rose sharply into the air before dive-bombing down and blowing a stream of fire over the first soldiers that ran from the Saxon side.

The field erupted into a constant clash of metal, and the sounds of conquest and defeat warred like the roll of thunder. Fires, led by Morgana and Aithusa, erupted around the plain; effectively surrounding the Saxons, and cutting off their means of retreat, while the grass that was once green and luscious was slowly painted red. Banners from each side fell and burned, but amidst the death and destruction she could still see her King fighting valiantly against any man that dared raise a sword to him.

He moved like he was made of water, but every strike he laid was stronger than the earth he stood upon. In the small amount of time the battle had transpired he was already soaked in blood, and had lain a trail of bodies as he advanced towards the Saxon leader that had been plaguing his reign over Camelot and Albion for upwards of ten years.

"You're scared," Aithusa observed, as she sailed over the battlefield once again and dived to burn through the Saxon horde once more. "Do you not trust the skills of your King?"

"Of course I do," Morgana answered, rather pathetically. "He is a better knight and soldier than anyone else on this field, but that doesn't mean I won't worry."

"It is not worry I sense, my lady, but fear," the dragon corrected. "I feel something deeper."

But Morgana couldn't answer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a light materialize and when she turned, she witnessed as a ball of fire cut through the air from weapons hidden within the burning forest. The force struck Aithusa's shoulder and the dragon released an earth shattering screech as she turned and began to fall out of the sky. Morgana tried holding on, tried calling out for Aithusa, but the beast did not respond and the Queen was sent falling from her place on the dragon's back. Her heart raced and her stomach dropped as the earth grew closer and closer to her, and in a last ditch effort to survive, her eyes flashed amber before her world was consumed by impenetrable darkness.

* * *

When she awoke, her sight was restored slowly and with a throbbing headache that crippled her before she even tried to move. She groaned and tried pushing up on her arm but was only met with more pain and a gentle hand against her shoulder. She blinked and squinted, peering through the dark fog hanging over her eyes to see the physician that always escorted the army with a sad smile on his face.

"Don't move, my lady," he whispered. "You suffered an array of serious injuries. It's a wonder you lived at all."

"Magic," she muttered, and attempted to laugh, but only hissed as white pain flooded from the center of her chest. Breathing out slowly she allowed her body to relax, and slowly looked around the tent in an attempt to find the man she expected to be at her side. "Where is Arthur?"

The physician tensed, and his shoulders slumped as he attempted to cover his demeanor with a smile. "Do not worry yourself now, my Queen. Allow yourself to recover."

"Worry myself?" she asked, pushing up from her cot despite the agony that every movement brought her. "What do you mean 'don't worry myself'?"

"Your majesty, please," he responded, once again trying to push her down, but she pushed away his hand and stood from her cot on shaky legs. She gasped and doubled over in pain; tears immediately streaming down her face as she stumbled forward and out of the physician's tent.

Faced with the soldiers of Arthur's army, her heart sank, and she gaped at the hundreds of sad eyes that immediately turned on her. As quick as her mangled body could carry her, she climbed to their tent and forcefully ripped apart the fabric blocking the quarters they had shared. As soon as she appeared, a multitude of men rose to block the sight from her, but it was too late.

She saw him, beautiful blue eyes blank and golden skin paler than the moon. His blonde hair was matted brown with his blood and his body had been stripped of his armor to reveal gaping wounds that were hastily stitched solely out of respect. Weakly, she pushed herself through the throngs of men and stumbled to his side; reaching out to touch him and whimpering when she felt how cold he had become. Dropping to her knees by his bedside, she grabbed his hand and squeezed his freezing fingers as painful sob after painful sob left her broken body.

She tried speaking, calling for him, yelling at him for getting himself killed, but when her mouth opened a heart wrenching scream left her lungs and reverberated across the silent camp. She felt strong hands on her shoulders, but she refused to move at the tender calls of her name.

"NO!" she screamed, tearing away from whoever was touching her. "I'm not leaving him!"

"He is gone, my lady," the voice said, but she didn't care. They were wrong. He couldn't be gone. Arthur Pendragon couldn't be dead.

"Leave..." she demanded, her voice feeble and quiet. "I SAID GET OUT!"

And reluctantly she was left alone with the shell of what her husband once was. Choking back a sob, she rose enough to settle by his side and she rested her cheek on his battered and bruised chest. Much to her dismay, the usual heartbeat that always lulled her to sleep was gone, and his skin was clammy and lifeless against her own. She sat up and brushed her fingers against his cheek, trying to avoid looking into his eyes that were frozen in fear and sadness. "No," she whispered, her voice harder this time. "You cannot die, Arthur. If a life must be taken from this battle, it will not be yours."

Shakily, she closed his eyes and ran her hand from his cheek to his forehead. She clasped his hand in hers and released a final soft sob, before she swallowed her tears and began muttering a long string of incantations. She shook beneath the force of her words and tightened her hold on his hand as her eyes flashed amber and pain unlike she had ever experienced overwhelmed her. She screamed and felt like the weight of the world was crushing her, but she held on, and kept her sweating palms against his skin. Tears streamed down her dirty cheeks and a scream tore from her raw throat once again as she felt every broken bone in her body heal before shattering into mere remnants of the part they once made whole. Her irises flashed again, once, twice, three times; each time bringing more agony and unbearable pain. She was convulsing by the time she had finished her incantation and as she held onto him for fear of shattering into nothing, she growled with a force that could rip apart the earth itself: "Arise...my champion."

His eyes opened, and he groaned as soreness overcame his body. In his daze he believed he woke from a blissful sleep, but then he turned his eyes and he saw her. His wife, his Queen, his Morgana broken, bloody, bruised and drained; her eyes devoid of life and her skin rapidly losing color. He shot out of his bed to catch her as she fell to the ground, and he pleaded for her to speak as utter confusion consumed his every thought.

"S-Someone...SOMEONE HELP!" he yelled, as his hands gently ghosted over her sides and he felt her broken ribs. "Morgana, what happened to you?"

"No one can help," she gasped, holding onto his arms as her back arched and she cried out in pain. "No one can stop this, no one must stop this!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Arthur yelled, cupping her cheek out of desperation to touch her where he wouldn't hurt her. Tears formed in his eyes and he shook his head as they slid down his cheek, falling against her neck and sliding down her chest. "Morgana what happened. Please tell me how I can fix this."

"No," she panted, reaching up and wrapping her fingers around his wrist as the agony began to fade and she was left gasping to fill lungs that she knew were empty, but didn't burn. "It doesn't matter. You're alive, that's all I care about."

"MORGANA WHAT DID YOU DO?" he screamed, shaking her shoulders roughly before he wrapped his arms around her broken form and pulled her into his chest. He buried his face in her neck and held her as he shook; tears falling against her skin while she was at peace, brushing her fingers through his matted hair and pressing weak kisses against his ear.

"Sssh," Morgana hushed, tightening her fingers in his locks as best as her weakening body would allow her. "You will be fine. I promise, besides, we won't be apart for long."

"I don't," Arthur began, stopping when a sob left his lips and he tightened his hold on her even more. "I can't live without you. Morgana, please don't go. I am nothing, mean nothing, unless I have you."

"Stop rambling like that," she grumbled, slinging her arm around his shoulders in an attempt to hug him. "I love you, but your journey is not yet complete. You will see me again, I promise you that, and I promise that if you waste this sacrifice, you will hear of it for an eternity to come."

"Eternity?"

"Yeah," she smiled, sighing as he released her and laid her gently on the oddly warm ground beneath her. She reached for him, and he met her hand; holding her wrist and bringing it to his damp cheek. She could feel darkness encroaching, but for once, the darkness wasn't cold and wicked. She felt warmth spread through her body where pain once was, and as her life ebbed away she felt as if she was healed anew. Her fingers twitched against his cheek and she whispered "my champion" before the last vestiges of light left her sight and she was enveloped by the warm caress of the abyss.

"My lady," he whispered in return, brushing his knuckles against her cooling cheek before he leaned down and pressed a final kiss against her parted lips. Weak and beaten, the King sat back and brought her head into his lap. His fingers brushed through the locks of her hair despite the incessant shake in the entirety of his body and he blinked away tears as he felt his chest caving and his heart shattering beyond a point of repair.

"My liege," the voice of the physician broke through his thoughts, but Arthur held up his hand.

"Have one of my scouts send word to Camelot. Tell Merlin we will return in two days time, with victory but a heavy heart. Tell him the Queen is dead, and that she gave her life to save me," he relayed, his voice emotionless and his eyes focused on a spot amidst nothingness.

"Anything else, your majesty?"

"I wish to honor her properly. Such will require time. Do not be startled if I do not return by nightfall."

"Yes, my king."

With a somber heart and a weak spirit, he arose with her body in his arms. He cradled her against his chest, she still so small and delicate, and he sobbed as he buried his nose in his hair and breathed in the last scent of life that still clung to her. "Rest well, my angel," he whispered, before he placed her in the bed he once occupied and brought a blanket up to her shoulders. "Avalon is far more beautiful now that you are there."


	8. Prompt 95: Hell

**An: Modern!Verse wheeeeeee**

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The spray of the lukewarm water did little to soothe away the unbearable cold that had spread from the raging storm outside, but the familiar slide of the water down her back was a welcome peace after the treacherous week she had. With her forehead pressed against the grimy linoleum tiles surrounding her shower, Morgana allowed the tears that had been pooling behind her eyes for days to fall and shakily released all the stress settled on her shoulders in weak, choking sobs. Thanks to her asshole boyfriend, who so lovingly ripped her mother's necklace from around her neck at the news of their break-up, her asshole boss, who threatened to fire her if she was ever late again, her nightmares, that had returned in full force and the perpetual darkness of dealing with them alone, Morgana was hanging at the end of her rope with little energy to try and claw her way up.

She shivered, and brought her arms around her soaked body as the small semblance of warmth in her shower water was gone and she was forced to move. She felt so tired, so weak, like she didn't have the energy to run the towel through her hair and instead wanted to curl up on the bathroom floor and sleep with the promise of never waking up. A pain in her chest flared as she pulled a white t-shirt over her head and slid shorts over her hips, and that pain worsened as she traveled from her bedroom to her living room that had been stripped bare thanks to her ex-boyfriend. Once beautifully decorated with a full furniture set and a flat screen TV, she was now left with a tattered leather armchair, a worn, faded rug, and a hole in her heart that wasn't closing any time soon. In utter resignation of trying any longer, she grabbed the bottle of vodka from the counter and curled up in her tattered armchair; staring into nothingness as the burn of alcohol fought off the chill of winter.

Disrupting her one-woman party, three loud knocks resounded through her apartment before the door opened of its own accord and revealed the last person she wanted to be bothered by. With a mop of perfect golden hair sitting atop his perfect head, her dear brother smiled, and fixed the thousand dollar suit that hugged his perfect body. "Way to jump at the bell, Morgana," he teased, walking deeper into her living room and looking around curiously. "Redecorating I see, and where is William? Lovely bloke seems to always wait for me at the door like an awe-struck puppy waiting for any tourney tickets to come his way. Why aren't you ready?"

She sighed, and squeezed the bridge of her nose in response to the instant headache that thumped against her temples. "Ready for what, Arthur?" she asked with a slow and slightly slurred tone.

"Did you forget it's Friday?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "We've been having dinner at father's every Friday night for the past three years Morgana, and I always come and get you."

"Shit," she hissed, having forgotten it was Friday all together. She looked up at him, drained green eyes pleading and lined with shadows. "I'm not up for dinner tonight, Arthur. Just tell father I'm sick."

"You look terrible," Arthur murmured, his words full of concern as he stepped closer to her. "Are you alright?"

"Not exactly," Morgana answered, standing from her chair and taking her vodka into the adjoined kitchen. "Though it's none of your business, Bill and I are no longer seeing each other, I can't sleep because my nightmares have returned, and my boss threatened me that if I was late one more time he would see to it that I live out the rest of my days in a cardboard box nestled in the park, and while I appreciate your concern...well...like I said. It's none of your business."

"Hey," he whispered, moving to catch her wrist when she walked back into the living room and tried showing him to the door. "Why didn't you call me?"

She sighed, shaky and unsure, as the warmth of his touch spread from her wrist and made her pulse race. She tried meeting his eyes, all wide and sad and perfectly blue, but she stared at the ground instead and attempted to pull away from him. "You," she stuttered, removing her wrist from his hand and wrapping her arms around her waist. "You're busy."

"I'm never too busy for you, Morgana," Arthur responded, reaching up and pushing away a wet strand of hair that fell from behind her ear. "You know that."

"I can't keep running to you, Arthur," she whimpered, shying away from his touch and stepping away from him entirely. "You have Gwen, and that makes everything different."

"No one will ever be more important than you," he promised, closing the gap between them and untangling her arms from around her. Gently, he pulled her into his chest and buried his nose in her damp hair; kissing her head like he has done for years. "You should have told me your nightmares came back..."

"I know," she said, tightening her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder despite how wrong they were. She wasn't supposed to have butterflies around him, she wasn't supposed to be jealous of his girlfriends, she wasn't supposed to want him all to herself and in the back of her mind she could hear the threatening yells from one of their childhood caretakers swearing she'll go to Hell. "I...just...I know."

Arthur sighed and hugged her against his chest, laying kisses against her cheek before he pulled away and cupped his hands around her face. His thumbs found the tears that had soaked his jacket and he brushed them away, a small smile on his face as he looked into her eyes. "I have an idea. How about we skip dinner tonight, and you come home with me. We'll curl up in bed and watch old Doctor Who episodes like we used to when we were kids until we fall asleep. Sound good?"

"Will there be hot chocolate?" she asked, reaching up and brushing her fingers against the backs of his hands.

"Of course, there's always hot chocolate in my house."

"But what about Gwen? Won't she be mad?"

"If she is, I don't care," he responded truthfully, pulling her closer to press a gentle kiss against her forehead. "I belong to you, Morgana. No one can change that. So, do we have a plan?"

And without another word she nodded, and buried her face in his shoulder once again; content to stay wrapped in his warmth forever. While her breathing was shaky, and her heart racing, she felt at peace. She felt loved, and happy, and worthwhile; saved from the darkness, once again, by her brother, her prince, her lover. Tears fell from her eyes at the prospect of being in his arms once again, and despite the words of her nursemaid in the back of her mind, she pushed onto her toes and covered his lips with hers. He stiffened in surprise, but quickly recovered and responded to the soft touch of her lips, closing his eyes and brushing his mouth against hers in barely-there kisses. When the torture became too much, he slid a hand to the back of her neck and held her still, kissing her solidly and running his tongue along her bottom lip. She gasped, and opened her mouth to meet his curious tongue that tasted of mouthwash and a delicate sweetness that was purely Arthur. He sighed, breathing in the pure essence of her as he practically crushed her to his chest and buried his fingers in her hair in response to the soft mewl that vibrated from her chest when he softly bit on her bottom lip. Morgana sighed when they parted, her head swimming in bliss and her fingers buried deep in his soft golden locks in an attempt to keep her rooted to reality. With a smile, she buried her face in his neck and hid away the blush that was creeping into her porcelain cheeks. Tenderly, he ran his fingers up her side and she giggled, closing her eyes and pushing away the reminders of her damnation that floated just out of earshot.

If she was destined for Hell by loving him than she welcomed Hell with open arms.


	9. Prompt 9: Darkness

**AN: This chapter is dedicated to tumblr user: thedarknesstohislight, who is my lovely Valentine! Hopefully you enjoy this, deary! 33**

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Darkness, the absence or deficiency of light. A lack of hope, a curtailment of peace, an exigency in achieving clarity. That was what her life had crumbled to; pure, impenetrable nothingness. There was no love, no happiness, no strife-less days and no real reason to live, but still she awoke with the sun - a wraith immortal to the blades of mortal men. And like a wraith she lived consumed, wielding her hand only to spread the poison that corrupted her once-compassionate heart. She was a monster, fueled solely by avarice and anger. Camelot belonged to her by birthright, and she would fight for that birthright until the broken crown of the Pendragon dynasty was settled on her head.

But for now, she sat upon an equally broken throne that was worthless outside of the men who served her - the men that lurked among the shadows. Magic surged through them like it did her, equal parts power with equal parts hatred towards the oppression that had darkened Camelot to magical beings. They, like her, wanted their revenge, but it was all a petty squabble in her eyes. They knew nothing of deceit, of treachery, of pure cowardice. They knew nothing.

The blonde king, still a childish prince in her eyes, sat upon a throne as golden as his mane with the assumption that he was untouchable; that the Goddess always had her hand on his shoulder. Morgana laughed at the thought, he so mortal and small, and she so blessed and powerful. How had they managed to sustain such a war for so long, when they were once so close? Or at least, she believed them close. He was kind and caring when they were children. Their teasing was incessant, but affectionate, and for awhile they believed that no one else existed in the world. When it appeared that magic started to filter through Camelot's impenetrable walls and take up solace within herself, he seemed distant, troubled. He was never at peace, and when he was, it was never with her. When she awoke from the night in a sweat, he was never there, and she realized that this world she had dreamt of with him never existed.

So for years she was left a husk; forcing a pretty smile and an elegant bow while her heart decayed within. She watched his eyes fall on every pretty maid the country had to offer, and watched as his gaze seemed to linger on Gwen. Her Gwen, of whom was well aware of the affair she and the crowned prince had once shared, but Gwen fell into his arms nonetheless and Morgana's loyalty was lost when it almost vanished along with her life.

Upon her icy throne, she shivered, and she caught sight of the men stilling in the shadows. Her hands began to shake, and she rose to her full height; her jaw pushed forward and her teeth grinding as hatred flowed through her like poison. She hated Arthur, she hated Merlin, she hated Gwen, and every precious bastard that chose to ignore the sins they have committed. There was only one who remained loyal to her. Her little soldier boy, Mordred.

The curly haired young man entered her chambers as if on cue, and bowed deep before his mistress. He was dressed in red and chainmail with his hand on the sword at his hip, a knight of Camelot himself. He remained close to Arthur; a friend, a soldier, and the metaphorically dagger that will be plunged deep into his heart. Morgana stepped from her seat of "royalty" and extended her arms to her boy, taking his rough hands in hers as he knelt before her.

"Be quick," she urged. "Tell me if we are victorious."

"We will be, my lady," he assured. "I have lured him from the castle, he believes I have found trace of you. He seemed distraught when I told him..."

"Good," she smiled, helping Mordred to his feet so he could tower over her. "We will encircle him in the valley. There is no means of escape unless he has skilled scaling mountains, but I will have him beneath my dagger long before then."

"The king shall die a fool this night, I assure you," Mordred nodded. "Then we shall take Camelot in the name of the Triple Goddess."

Morgana smiled, not like she used to - all sweet and happy - but instead with a twisted grin and eyes glistening for power. Tightly squeezing Mordred's hand, she stepped away from him and nodded to the door behind him. "Visit my personal chambers. Take with you anything that may make Arthur believe I have been there. I will travel under the cover of night, and await your arrival near dawn."

The young boy nodded and stalled before he took his leave. "Be careful, my lady," he pleaded, taking her hand and kissing it gently.

Ever the mother figure, Morgana moved closer and placed her hands on Mordred's cheeks; pushing onto her toes and resting her lips against his forehead. "Be valiant, my son."

"Ever so," he agreed, before he stepped away and excused himself entirely. Left alone once again, safe for the company of her guards, her heart swelled and the air seemed clearer. Soon her hands would be stained in blood; blood that could be bartered for the most precious rubies ever taken from the earth, but it would not be for pay. No, her payment would be revenge, and seeing the life ooze out of the one and only King Arthur.

* * *

The fjord was freezing and touched with ice and snow when she dismounted her horse and handed the reins to a nearby hand. The climb through the carved pass was treacherous and marred with sharp rocks and large boulders that threatened to spill from the cliff side. It was the perfect spot for a priestess on the run to seek refuge, and an even better spot for a priestess with an army. She dismissed her stable hand and the young man took the horse away, leaving her in the comfort of her sorcerers at her back. They proceeded through the fjord, keeping careful not to make tracks or disturb nature's perfect balance before they reached the cave where they would wait.

In hours time the king would scale the fjord himself, armed only with his sword and accompanied by Merlin and Mordred. The hidden sorcerer would be easy enough to take care of, and then she would be left with the king, with her Arthur. Oh the sweet temptation of revenge! It set her heart aflutter, and brought a giddy jump to her step.

"My queen," a sorcerer of hers interrupted her reverie and pointed to the cave mouth that peered over the horizon. "Have we arrived?"

"Yes, child," she answered, turning to look down the slope with a smile. "Be merry, but be vigilant. Soon, we will all be free."

* * *

"How have you managed to find trace of her?" Arthur asked as they tied their mounts at the edge of the fjord and began their ascent. "I thought her already dead...she hasn't been heard of for close to a year."

"On a patrol I caught sight of three women dressed in black cloaks with distorted faces and sewn eyes. They spoke in a language I could not comprehend, and spoke her name multiple times before they fled in this direction. I pursued their path when they had departed, in part for preserving my own safety, and found instruments of magical origin and...this. I'm sure it will be familiar," Mordred extended his hand towards his king and dropped a silver amulet in his palm.

Slowing his stride, Arthur looked at his hand and sighed as his finger ran along the curves long identified by the druids. He closed his fingers around the amulet and brought his knuckles to his lips, a single tear falling from his eye as he screamed and threw the necklace towards the large lake that settled below their mountain path. "Damn these instruments!" he yelled to nothingness before his voice cracked under the pressure. "Damn these instruments that took her away from me!"

"My liege," Mordred muttered, looking to Merlin who appeared shaken from the outburst.

"It always comes back to magic," he hissed, watching as the necklace fell and smacked the water's surface. "Magic took away my mother, my father, and took away her...it consumed her and turned her into a monster. And still people wish me to believe it can be a force for good. Lies! It is an illness that rips away all semblance of meaning from the life of a man!"

"Arthur," Merlin spoke up, his voice wavering. "We do not have to continue."

"I must," Arthur insisted. "If only to mourn the love I have lost."

"Be careful, my king," Mordred called as Arthur began to storm up the path, with his company close behind him. "There is no telling what can linger here."

"I have little to live for Mordred, and therefore, little to fear."

* * *

"I found her pendant over this hill," Mordred spoke, as they climbed the fjord and stopped at the hill. "In that cave. There were remains of a campsite and it was littered with vials and herbs...and blood. Lots of blood."

"Be wary," Arthur instructed. "This could end terribly, and if it appears to be headed towards such, I want both of you to leave immediately."

"We won't abandon you," Merlin interrupted.

"It is not abandonment if it is an order, Merlin," he retaliated, as he unsheathed Excalibur and proceeded towards the cave mouth. With a sigh, he stopped just short of the cave and closed his eyes; a familiar scent of lavender and vanilla floating on the sharp, clean scent of the water that seeped from the mountain peaks. "Morgana," he whispered, his voice distant and pained. "You are here."

"Hello, dear brother," she hissed, as she emerged from the darkness and into the light of the rising sun. "It has been such a long time since we last met."

"I thought you had died," he whispered, his shoulders slumped and his sword tip resting uselessly in the rocks. "Where have you been, Morgana?"

"As if you've been disheartened by my absence," Morgana spat. "As if your mind hasn't been calm and clear on your precious throne, with your queen and child by your side and no lost love to bring you to your knees. Spare me your lies."

"As you have spared me yours?" Arthur growled, taking a step closer. "Why should I give you what you stole from me?"

"And what of yours have I stolen?"

"My peace of mind, Morgana! I lost you long before it came to this, and it tore me apart! And when I finally got you back you turned your back on me!"

"AS YOU DID WITH ME!" she yelled, her voice echoing between the towering mountains. The king stilled and stepped back, his jaw tense and his hands shaking. "Arthur you turned your back on me the second you thought your title was more important than your duty. You turned your back on me when I reached for you, and you did nothing. You've betrayed me Arthur, time and time again, long before I ever left Camelot."

"So you think this will solve it?" he asked. "You think you'll kill me, and that will be it?"

"Yes. You have hunted my people like your tyrant father-"

"I have hunted you," Arthur corrected. "But I do not wish your blood on my hands."

"Your hands are already stained, Pendragon, and with your death you will take the last reason for my existence to remain. While your head hangs from the ramparts of Camelot, I will sit upon your throne with a dead heart. The huntress is nothing without her prey."

"So why do this? Why bring it to this?"

"Because you are still my prey, and I want you dead."

"Is there nothing left in your heart?" Arthur asked, daring to step closer once again. "As a child you were so kind, so compassionate! I believed we could rule Camelot together with you as my queen! Dammit all to hell, Morgana, I loved you!"

"BE SILENT," she screeched and her men jumped into action. Mordred instantly swung his sword for Merlin, catching Arthur's magical shield off guard and placing a bad slice in his arm. From the shadows emerged her men, and they all rose their hands into the air, disturbing the rocks that remained perched further up the mountain. Drawing her own sword from her side, she rushed for Arthur, who waited patiently and failed to move as the rocks started to shake from high above their heads. The two met in a flurry of clashing metal and fury; tears streaming down their faces as they tried to overpower the other and failed miserably. Amidst their battle, boulders bounced down the mountain side, and Morgana's men started to shy away when they realized the rocks were too large, and moving far too fast. On the sound of retreat, they all disappeared, and Arthur looked up to see the rock hurtling for Morgana. He turned back to see her, so beautiful even when her face was contorted in conflicted anger with her sword high above her head. With a final parry, he settled his hand on her stomach and threw her away, closing his eyes and releasing a blood curdling scream as the rock threw him to the ground and crushed him beneath its weight.

"NO!" Morgana screamed, as she pushed onto her forearm and saw her prince broken and bloodied beneath a wall of rock that could not be moved. He wheezed, barely able to breathe, and tried to claw for his escape, but they both knew he wouldn't be spared. She crawled to his side, her heart broken and tears streaming down her face as she shakily brought his head into her lap and stroked his matted hair. "You...you saved me. No, Arthur you...no. Why?"

He looked up at her with eyes glazed and foggy; lost in his slow death. Weakly, he reached up and brushed his cold fingers against her equally cold skin, taking with him one of her tears. "-love you. Always."

"No, no, no, no, no," she chanted, taking his hand and bringing it to her lips. "Arthur-"

"Shh," he tried whispering. "-'s okay."

"No, it should have never come to this," she argued, brushing her fingers shakily down his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

Once more, his fingers brushed her face and he sighed heavily as if the weight of the world had been taken off his chest. "My lady," he murmured, weakly playing with a strand of her hair and waiting for her reply.

Breathing in deeply, she blinked away her tears and leaned down to press her lips against his, so chapped and cool. "My champion," she responded, moving her lips to his forehead and releasing a broken sob when his hand fell weakly from her hair and she listened as his last breath escaped his lips. "I love you too," she whispered into his hair, before she wrapped her arms around him as best she could and mourned not only her lover and friend, but the happiness they could have had had they both done things differently.

* * *

Tears ran freely down her cheeks as she shot up from her slumber, her heart racing and her entire body shaking. She looked around, terrified of where she was, until she felt the warm caress of the dwindling fire and the soft brush of rough skin against her bare thigh. Gasping, she looked over to her side and saw her Arthur sleeping, his body as bare as hers, and his lips parted on a soft snore. Brushing away her tears, she wordlessly shook his shoulder; awakening him from his seemingly peaceful slumber.

"'Gana?" he asked, a low groan vibrating in his chest before his eyes opened and he caught sight of his wife with her face stained with tears. "Baby, what happened? Another nightmare?"

She nodded, and he sat up instantly; taking her into his arms and cradling her close to his chest. His fingers ran into her hair and he pressed gentle kisses all along her face before he wrapped her with the blanket the two had kicked to their feet. "It's okay," he soothed. "I'm right here."

"I dreamt of a world so different from this," she whimpered against his neck. "Where you broke my heart and drove me to madness. I craved your death more than my lungs could ever crave air, but in the end you saved me where I would have killed you. You told me you loved me, when I wanted to plunge a knife through your heart."

"Hey," Arthur whispered, pushing Morgana back and softly palming away her tears. "I do love you, more than I could ever form into words, but you're here with me. You never have to worry about such heartache, Morgana. I promise you that."

"I can't imagine what I would do if I ever lost you," Morgana murmured, wrapping her arms around his torso and burying her face in his chest. "I dare to say I couldn't survive..."

Arthur smiled and pulled her left hand into his, running his thumb over the intricate silver band that adorned her ring finger. "Remember this?" he asked, smiling even larger when she laughed and nodded against his chest. "Until death do us part, right? Well, death wouldn't dare try to accomplish such a feat."

"You're overconfidence is so reassuring," she mumbled sarcastically as she sat up and brushed away the last of her tears. She sighed and relaxed as his hands ran up and down her back; the warmth from him and the warmth from the fire pulling her towards sleep's abyss.

"Well, you have nothing to worry about tonight," Arthur assured, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. Easily, he pushed her back onto the pillows they had situated before their fireplace and placed a lingering kiss at the base of her neck before he brushed his fingers through her hair which splayed out in a luscious fan of ebony. "Rest, my queen. Albion awaits to rise at the sight of your smile."

"I love you," she whispered, her eyes drooping as she rested her hand on his side and released a gentle yawn.

"And I you," he cooed, playing with her hair until the gentle sensation seemed to lull her into sleep. With great tenderness, he placed a kiss against her lips and settled beside her; wrapping his arms around her and whispering "Forevermore," into her ear.


	10. Prompt 201: Compassion

**AN: So, while this isn't a prompt listed in the 200 Prompt FF Challenge, this is something I thought of when I was flying home from spring break. :D**

* * *

"Morgana! Morgana! Bloody hell, where are you child?" the strict, shrill voice reached her ears before she had a chance to duck into cover and she cringed as she practically felt the earth shake as the woman ran to claim her. A strong, large, greasy hand grasped her wrist and she yelped against her better judgment when she was practically pulled off her feet and lifted into the air. "Where have you been?! You're dress is ruined! And you're hair looks atrocious. You are the King's ward-"

"Not a wild child," she finished, rolling her eyes and pulling her wrist away. "Who cares what I look like? I can sneak into the city without anyone seeing me and I'm not trying to impress anyone!"

"Would your _father_ approve of your current...state?"

She always used that tactic against her and despite her pale skin flushed in the glow of early adolescence it still managed to feel like a knife digging deep into her chest. She cursed her, albeit silently, and looked away in hopes the rich spring air would dry the tears that threatened to fall. She had lived in Camelot for almost ten years now, since she was a young girl of seven years that had never felt pain beyond her hair being pulled and a scrape on her knee, but the death of her father was too real. Too real, too fast. The mere mention of his name stole the air from her lungs and made her feel crippled, worthless. She despised those that used him against her, because despite what she looked like and what she did, her father loved her unconditionally.

But her caretaker Hilda didn't know her father, and surprisingly, after ten years, she didn't know her either. Morgana could never answer her insulting questions properly because she wouldn't understand. All Hilda would do was throw her to Uther who would look down on her with eyes that were hard in disapproval. "No," she lied, rubbing her wrist gently and noticing that her pale skin was inflamed red. "No, he would not."

"And I'm sure your mother wouldn't either," Hilda hissed, turning on the heel of her worn slippers and dusting off her apron as if Morgana was covered head to toe in filth. "And I can be well certain that your King would disapprove of his ward traipsing around the lower town looking like a heathen. If you wish to ever see the light of the sun before it sets for the cold of winter I suggest you return to your chamber and stay there until you are ready to act like a lady."

Morgana huffed and walked away, damning etiquette and any respect she had for the pompous woman who simply slunk around the castle to make her life a living hell and sneak food from the kitchens when the cooks weren't looking. Despite her attempts, tears ran down her cheeks and fell into the dusty roads beneath her feet ; leaving a trail of deepening hatred in her wake. Her bruised wrists furiously wiped away her tears, and she pushed past the guards guarding the grand door that led into the castle's extensive foyer. Servants and guards alike bowed their heads in recognition to her presence and muttered her name on baited breaths. She ignored them all and dodged out of their sight, practically running for her chambers located on the castle's eastern wing.

When she reached the stair case leading to the floor she was condemned to, she didn't realize she had been holding her breath for fear of making the sobs building within her chest audible. She grasped the marble hand rail and fell against it, her legs burning and her lungs seizing as she tried to fight the hiccupping cries that were leaving her throat. She settled herself on the bottom stair and curled her legs under her chin, covering her mouth with her hand and squeezing her eyes tight shut. She hated that such a petty woman had this power over her and she hated how weak she was to the reality of her situation. She was an orphan. Lost, like all the children wandering around the lower city, without parents to soothe their aches and guide them towards strength. A sense of strength was all she ever wanted, but everywhere she turned the people who were supposed to be caring for her were belittling her and assuring her that she was right. She's worthless.

"Morgana? Are you okay?" the footsteps were soft, the voice cautious. Her heart lurched uncomfortably and she instantly wanted to run and hide from his prying, oh-so-blue eyes.

"Go away, Arthur," she pleaded. "I don't want to talk to anyone."

He didn't listen, he never listened and that was one of the many things that drove her crazy about the Prince. He settled down beside her and rested his elbows on his knees, looking every part the man he would become despite the fact that he was almost two years younger than her. He reached over and pulled a leaf free that was woven in her hair with a soft laugh on his lips. Initially she thought he was laughing at her, but he soothed any retort she may have had when he tenderly brushed her unruly hair behind her ear. "She found you, didn't she?"

Morgana nodded, nothing more than a short shake of her head so he couldn't see how swollen her glassy green eyes had become. He frowned, but of course she didn't see, and he scooted closer beside her until they were hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. "Hey," he coaxed, nudging her gently. "She's an old, loveless hag. You shouldn't take anything she says seriously."

"Loveless is right," she snapped, fury in her tear-worn gaze. "I hope she burns for how many times she has used my father's name as a tool."

"She doesn't know your father. She doesn't know that he would have opened his arms to you, mud, dust and all, when you came running from the woods. She doesn't care that she speaks with ignorance, and she doesn't care that she is hurting you..."

"And what of you?" Morgana asked, running her fingers through her hair and pressing her hand into her forehead. "Why should I listen to you? You too speak with ignorance."

"True, but you know I'm right," Arthur argued, nudging her with his shoulder again. "I didn't know you're father, but he was a valiant man who served by my father's side with bravery. He was a king of his own, and besides...you had to get your free spirit from someone. I'm sure he wasn't surprised when you turned on him with a stick and demanded he fight you, and I would bet just about anything that he was happy you were never some prissy maiden who preferred to brush her hair instead of race horses through the dense woodlands of Cornwall."

She laughed and instantly tried to hide how easily he made her smile. Her eyes met his and she sighed, content to feel the heat that emanated from deep within him. Here he was, ever conquering Prince Arthur Pendragon - destined King of Camelot and Champion of the realm. When his name passed lips, the speakers only seemed to concentrate on his innate ability to rule the battlefield like a lion. They marveled his speed, they worshiped his strength, but above all else they looked over the one thing that made Arthur himself; his compassion. No one would ever expect Arthur to knock his opponent down, and then lay down his arm to help the knight to his feet, but she knew he would. She knew him, and deep down she wondered if she was the only one he frequently showed this side of himself to. The thought made her...happy, but false happiness was dangerous and she preferred to dwell on it as little as possible.

But regardless here he sat, her king, her lionheart, staring at her with a gentle smirk on his lips that she couldn't seem to stop staring at. "Thank you, Arthur," she whispered, unable to speak further for fear of vocalizing the array of thoughts racing through her mind like hounds. Absently, she leaned into him and smiled even brighter when his arm wrapped around her shoulder and he squeezed her against his side.

"Hey," he muttered, his voice drastically lower and his fingers running through the waterfall of silken raven hair that fell down her back. "I'll walk with you to your room, you can get cleaned up and once you're done, I'll come back and we can find something to do."

"We're going to have to dodge Hilda," Morgana explained. "I'm supposed to be in solitary confinement."

He let out a loud laugh at the challenge and threw a small twig he had found in her hair at their feet. "You think Hilda is any match for us? She could barely keep chase to the lower town, let alone all the way to the lake."

"So we're going to the lake?"

"Mmm maybe," he teased, leaning over and pressing his lips against her temple. "It's a surprise."

Fire spread throughout her cheeks, and she coughed lightly to suppress the pressure that seemed to instantly clog her throat. He rose from her side and she instantly shivered at the loss of contact despite the warmth that rolled through the castle like the fabled Arabian dancers she had read about in her studies. He reached his hand out and without hesitation she complied, allowing him to pull her to her feet before he valiantly offered her his arm.

"My lady," he cooed with a slight bow of his head.

She curtsied low and rested her hand on his arm with a playful smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "My champion," she answered, before they moved to take the first step towards the floor hanging above their heads.

"Arthur! What are you doing here, son? Is something troubling you?"

"Deeply, father," Arthur answered, bowing his head as he approached his father's throne. "It's about Morgana-"

"Is she hurt?" Uther's back straightened instantly and his eyes widened as his hands clenched the edges of his throne. "Hilda informed me of her escapade through the woods..."

"She is well, father. Physically, at least," the Prince soothed. "It's come to my attention that Morgana has been acting...odd lately. She has been travelling to the woods frequently, has she not?"

"She has."

"I am led to believe that that is where she seeks comfort from the stresses of the castle. Since I am training frequently and fiercely throughout the day, I am not there to entertain or comfort her. All she does every day is read and listen to her lady in waiting berate her for one thing or the other. The poor girl is lonely, and I doubt having a woman well into her age tending to her is the best way to address that," Arthur explained, rocking on his heels as the words flowed from his mouth with little prior thought.

His father looked intrigued, which was all he needed for confirmation. "Go on."

"Wouldn't it be more sensible for a young lady to be tended by a young lady? If not for privacy's sake but for that weird bond all women tend to have?" Arthur suggested with an almost indifferent shrug of his shoulder. "I'm sure there is someone around here who can rightly tend to Morgana's needs."

Uther considered the proposal and thoughtfully scratched at his chin. "Has Morgana expressed distaste for her maid?"

Arthur nodded. "Time and time again."

"Then I will consider your proposal," the King stated. "I suppose it is time Hilda retire from her position as Morgana is no longer a child. I'll scour through the servants. I believe there is a young girl close to Morgana's age that assists with the laundering that can aid her."

"Thank you, father," the Prince smiled, bowing before he started to retreat for the door. With his hand on the aged mahogany, he turned and addressed his father once again. "Oh, and if you would be so kind...don't tell Morgana about any of this."


End file.
